A Splashy, Messy All

Advertisement

Supported by

Theater Review

Florentina Holzinger's striking, bewildering and stomach-churning new piece, "Ophelia's Got Talent," opened the season at the Volksbühne theater in Berlin.

Send any friend a story

As a subscriber, you have 10 gift articles to give each month. Anyone can read what you share.

By A.J. Goldmann

BERLIN — A group of naked women hump a helicopter suspended above an onstage swimming pool; a tattooed sword swallower inserts blades down her throat — as well as a tube with a camera that gives us a tour of her guts; someone else sticks her hand deep inside another woman's vagina and retrieves a key; the key-bearer later pierces her cheek with a large pin. These are a few of the striking, bewildering and stomach-churning things that take place at the Volksbühne theater during "Ophelia's Got Talent," a new work by Florentina Holzinger.

Over the past few years, that Austrian choreographer and director's radically feminist — or postfeminist — brand of dance theater has garnered critical acclaim and gained a cult following. "Ophelia's Got Talent," an all-naked female revue about women and water, is Holzinger's second production at the Volksbühne. And unlike the first, "A Divine Comedy," which was originally seen at the Ruhrtriennale festival before transferring to Berlin last season, "Ophelia's Got Talent" is tailored to the Volksbühne's round and technically versatile stage.

At the performance I attended, the atmosphere was electric. The packed audience roared its approval before, during and after the performance. If nothing else, Holzinger has succeeded in bringing back a sense of frenzied enthusiasm to the company, which has struggled since the 2017 exit of its legendary artistic director Frank Castorf after 25 years running the theater, which inaugurated a period of decline and dysfunction.

The theater's current artistic leader, René Pollesch, a writer-director who is a veteran of the Castorf era, has certainly scored a popular coup in recruiting Holzinger, who is part of the Volksbühne's artistic advisory board and will create several new works for the theater in the coming years. Based on the evidence, Berlin audiences have a large appetite for her brash, energetic and exuberantly discomfiting work, with its unflinching and unsentimental look at women's bodies and desires. And, let loose on the Volksbühne's vast stage, Holzinger can work on a grand scale that allows her to create theatrical tableaus of undeniable power. Inexplicable as it was, the flying helicopter orgy was a wild sight to behold.

Less convincing, however, than such stunning and disturbing set pieces (at one point, a performer literally hangs from her teeth), is the director's sense of dramatic clarity, structure and rhythm. At close to three hours, "Ophelia's Got Talent" is, simply put, a mess.

The production starts off as a parody of a shlocky TV talent show, complete with overemotional judges. After a Houdiniesque escape from a water tank goes wrong, the talent show breaks off and is replaced by a vaudeville-style revue that is frequently exasperating. Titles projected on the back of the stage suggest various aquatic themes, but little connects the endless procession of tap dancing, swimming, scenes of self-harm and confessional monologues.

It's not that there are too few ideas to sustain the long running time; it often feels that there are too many. Watching this show, one has the impression that Holzinger and her fearless co-stars fell down a deep, dark well of associations and haven't fully emerged.

Is "Ophelia's Got Talent" a homage to Shakespeare's drowned heroine? A treatise on the depiction of submissive aquatic women, or dangerous mythological figures, in Western art and literature? The evening seemed to be headed in those directions — until the performers became dancing, brawling sailors, a mash-up of "Anchors Away" and Fassbinder's "Querelle." But that, too, quickly fell away, and a sense of strange body horror took over. At one point a performer appeared to give agonizing birth to a reptilian, or possibly mechanical, creature as the water in the long onstage pool turned blood-red. Holzinger's aesthetic is very in-your-face, but some subtlety would have also gone a long way. If this was a show about water's metamorphic power, and of women as bearers of water and life, I would have preferred a more sustained engagement with those themes. Instead, the production swerved in a militantly ecological direction late in the evening, with hundreds of plastic bottles raining down into the pool.

Then, toward the end, the show veered unexpectedly into sentimentality with an assist from a group of adorable young children who scampered onstage and announced themselves as representatives of the future. It was a baffling way to draw the bold, confused and exhausting spectacle to a close. More to the point, however, it struggled to convince; the environmental twist felt like straining for relevance and even a touch hypocritical. With thousands of gallons of water (there is a pool and two massive tanks on the stage) required for each performance, this is clearly not a resource-light production. As one of the onstage children says, water is "the blood of the earth." I wonder if spilling so much of it night after night is justifiable.

The sea is "the only lover whose arms are always open to us," wrote the gender-bending French writer and photographer Claude Cahun, whose unique body of work inspired the season opener at the Münchner Kammerspiele. Performed on the playhouse's smallest stage, that piece, "La Mer Sombre," is a compact production by the exciting young German director Pinar Karabulut. A short work that Karabulut developed with three excellent actors from the Kammerspiele's permanent troupe, "La Mer Sombre" is more successful as a stylized fusion of fluid mise-en-scène, eye-popping design and accomplished performances than as an exploration of Cahun's unconventional life and pioneering work, which is enjoying a revival of interest.

At the start of the hourlong performance, the actors are casually embedded in the audience. It's hard to miss them, however, since the straight black wigs and oddly cut, closefitting costumes they wear make them look like androgynous alien joggers. It's difficult to get much of a hold on the dialogue, which is drawn largely from Cahun's writings but often decontextualized. Instead, the production poetically honors her iconoclastic spirit by tearing down barriers. The performers have no fixed identities, rather they seem to collectively form a fractured persona; the spectators rub shoulders with the actors as they flit between the stage and the auditorium and an audience member is even invited to serve as the prompter; stagehands wander the set installing and removing props.

Brightly colored and filled with music, the production proceeds by associative logic as the Kammerspiele's actors — Thomas Hauser, Gro Swantje Kohlhof and Christian Löber — play off one another in a surreal fun house decked out with shell-shaped mirrors, illuminated hearts, a reflective floor and, at the play's climax, a bathtub filled with bubbles.

Despite the energetic and witty performances and the finely honed aesthetic of Aleksandra Pavlovic's set design, this remains a modest production that operates within a small web of themes and motifs. While succeeding on its own terms, "La Mer Sombre" merely dips a toe into Cahun's life and work: It doesn't go for a full plunge. Even so, the hour spent with the Kammerspiele's three actors somehow seemed richer and more theatrically satisfying than the nearly three endured with Holzinger and her nude 12-woman troupe.

Ophelia's Got Talent. Directed by Florentina Holzinger. Through Nov. 27 at the Berlin Volksbühne.La Mer Sombre. Directed by Pinar Karabulut. Through Nov. 20 at the Münchner Kammerspiele.

Advertisement